Ozymandias

just then f walks in to see the melon. he open his mouth cast "holy,.... f was eaten by a grape (loser)

just then, kitty nagasaki, deirdre's twin sister, walks into the room, giggling as she whip out a royal japaneese watermelon, the king of the grapes. She is the cause of this, and as deirdre approches her sister with much trepredition, the melon awakes.

Quadamage wipes a hand across his face and shakes his head in disgust. He feels a sharp pressure on the back of his neck, and looks to up to see a bat attemtping to suck his blood through the thick Black kevlar coat he found on a foray into one of they old abandoned cities. Catching the bat unaware, he plucks it up, and, thanking whtever deity may, at that moment, be listening thathe had brushed up his Kiss of the Vampire Spell, he raised the bat to his mouth and kissed it on the lips. It suddenly turned insubstantial, evaporating from his arms and turning into a giant, two times as high as a man and four times as wide, with a huge black beard and carrying a pink umbrella. the giant points the unmbrella at a FG, and it explodes in mid-lunge, two feet short of Dethyl's throat. The giant points the flowery pink umbrella at Grape after grape, and soon there are showers of weak wine all over the room...

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Dameon screams..."I hate little rats with wings!!" Thrashing about like a little girl in a panic, Dameon begins to sob. "Oh I hate bats .I hate'm, I hate'm, I hate'm." He reaches deep into his pockets and pulls out the one mighty magical item he thinks might save the day 'Bat-Nip'. He throws the Bat-Nip in the air and wtcheds as the bats begin to fly in circles, crashing into each other. As they one by one fall to the ground, Dameon begins to count. "One batty-bat hahahaha, Two batty-bats hahahaha, Three batty-bats hahahaha...."

Ozymandias wakes with a jolt after some hot coffee-is upended on his head by a helpful barmaid. "YAAAAAAHHH! Ow! Bats?!? Damn, damn! Where did they get bats???" He crawls for his spellbook, sore, scalded, but determined not to lose another fine drinking establishment. John Steinbeck is still off behind the bar, pummeling the poor bartender as three barmaids look on in bewilderment. Great in fury, but not strength of arm, Steinbeck wilts the bartender under the constant pressure of an old man sitting on top of you, screaming, and hitting you in the face more than any physical damage could. "I'm a WRITER! You serve ALCOHOL to medieval savages for a LIVING! You could never understand my work! Never! NEVER!!"

Yo-yokirby puts away his movie camera and deftly makes many copies of the carnage. He sets up a pile by the door with a sign saying, "Get it here! 'The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes II: The Flying Fanged Fruit of Fury!' Only $4.95!"

Deirdre the cat is covered with remains of the grapes and is about to get out of the BH when she notices a group of wierd-looking things walking towards the Hall. She takes a closer look and screams.......... Marching towards the Hall is another group of Grapes,fangs sharpened to avenge their dead cousins. Deirdre the cat runs back into the Hall to warn the rest of the tired mages. Suddenly,a group of fanged bats fly into the Hall and Deirdre is frightened to death.

Hair standing on end from the ambient electrical charge, robes now even more askew, and just all around covered in blood (his, but just a little bit) and burnt grape juice (quite a lot), Ozymandias gingerly picks himself up off of the floor, beating out small fires in his robes and taking care not to step on any wine glasses. Blinking owlishly at the realization that it was the bartender, a dark look crosses his face. "Cast Grapes of Wrath on me, will you? There's only one fitting punishment for that." (quickly thumbs through a stained spellbook) "WRATH OF STEINBECK!" He chants surprisingly clearly, there is another blue flash, and an old man walks through the front door. He stops dead. Surveying the carnage, his face gets redder and redder. Very, very quietly, he speaks. "That...was...great...LITERATURE YOU JUST MADE MOCKERY AND A RATHER SMELLY MESS OF, YOU BUFFOON!" Righteous anger launches him across the banquet hall in seconds. "IT WASN'T EVEN A *GOOD* PUN!!!!", Steinbeck is heard to scream. Before pitching forward onto his face again, Ozymandias turns to Greased and says, "Well, that'll teach me to leave the Holy Grail of Wine at home." He hits the floor with a loud SMACK. Snoring softly, he doesn't even stir when Dameon tries to get past, slips on some stomped grapes, and falls on him.

Dethyl hears Ozymandias's voice and loses his concentration, the black hole fizzles after sucking in about half the grapes. Quadamage cast gravity pull as everyone suddenly feels heavy, Daemon screams out ,"Everyone try to crush the grapes on the floor!" Amidst the mad stomping and squishing sounds, someone notices the bartender gathering wine from the cruched grapes. Judging from the smile of the bartender's face,he is delighted. Deirdre the Cat uses her telepathic powers and realises that it was the bartender who cast the spell, in the hope that his best customers: the arhmages would be able to crush all the grapes so he could cash in on the free wine and later sell it back to the mages for a much higher price. Deirdre draws upon her psionic powers and tells everyone about the bartender's fruity plot that has begun to ferment. The bartender watches with glee that no one is close enough to harm him while his grapes are around. Then suddenly, A whole bunch of white knights and dread knights ride in on horseback and start piercing the grapes and making kebabs out of them. Finally all the grapes are immobalised and every mage is bleeding or dirty. Then all the mages start stalking menancingly towards the now cowering bartender.

Tzimfemme hurls her flail at a passing grape, breaking off its fangs but otherwise doing it no damage. Fangs? . . .She quickly decides that, Server One or no, her alter ego is better equipped to deal with this, and whistles up Rydia. Rydia observes the angry swarm with little surprise, and mumbles "not fruit again" under her breath. She and indigo-haired Minta (her youthful assistant) take up the paddles and begin smacking the miscreants. They sail towards Rosemary as she holds out her arms to welcome them. "You know, Rose," grunts Rydia as she spanked another grape, "I was thinking that you could eat them, maybe!" "But they love me! They're coming to me! How could I eat them?" coos the lunatic vampire. The grapes fly past Rosemary towards the black hole. She stamps her foot, furious at being ignored, and suddenly exposes her own fangs. "Tastes like you!" she cheerfully informs Minta, grabbing and draining another grape. Minta picks up the dejuiced grapes, one in each hand, and drags the mega-raisins to a nearby eradication portal. Fire giants, she knows, just love oatmeal raisin cookies.

Ozymandias gives Dameon a quick nod of thanks for his timely intervention. Book in one hand, he snatches up the mana crystal in the other, narrowly avoiding some flaming grapes. "Welch's kid?? NEVER!!!", he roars, as blue lines of energy crackle and arc around him. A gateway opens and a Wine Press emerges. Bearing down on the nearest, well, bunch, it takes hundreds of grapes from the fray with one scoop of its' maw and begins to squeeze. Ozymandias is shrieking madly now: "Glasses! Dammit, I need glasses!!!" A hail of wine glasses come at him as the barmaids and bartender throw everything they've got from cover behind the bar. Drinking for all he's worth as Tzimfemme heroically rushes to serve newcomers badly burned wine (for a small tip), the battle begins to turn. But then, through a growing drunken stupor, he notices a new predicament- "Blasht it, Dethyl, your black holesh' got th wine preshh!! Shut it off, or we'll all be shucked through!!!"

Yo-yokirby walks into the Banquet hall, not in the least expecting to see "The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes II: The Fried Flying Fanged Fruit". He dashes away and returns with a movie camera and begins filming the carnage...

Decimator was sitting quietly at his table in the corner, surveying the fruity carnage that surrounded him. Suddenly a rather large grape sailed across the room and went splat on his face. "That's enough!" cried Decimator in an uncharacteristic display of anger. He set down his can of Sprite, got up, and...brought a loaf of bread from a pocket of his cloak. It was soon followed by a container of chunky peanut butter and a knife. Decimator spread a thick layer of the peanut butter on the bread with care and effortlessly grabbed an airborne grape. Smiling diabolically, he smooshed the grape into a pulp and wiped it onto the bread. Decimator sat down again and started to enjoy his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Dameon, whirls and smiles greatfully at the new mages entering the fray. Shaking his head at Greased, he quicly cast feet of hermes on the incredibly slowed man. Turning to Ozymandious he throws a fully charged mana crystal at his feet hoping that the added mana will help him in his summons of the 'Wine Press'. "Hopefully," Dameon says, "we wont have to cast the horrid spell -summon the welches kid. I hate that kid and his stupid 'it's a taste you can feel in your cheeks.' line. BAH!!!" Dameon becomes enraged thinking about the slimy little welches kid and tears a frying grape in half , spattering himself with the new electric grape flavoured cool-aid

Ozymandias enters the hall, dishevelved, bruised, and bloody. Seeing fanged, sizzling fruit abrubtly flying at his face, mutters "Oh damn", and quickly whips out his spellbook. Miraculously, it falls open to the perfect page. A moment away from being devoured in his weakened state, he begins casting Summon Wine Press, and smiles. *This could be a good day after all*, he muses.

Quadamage begins laughin at all the terror the flying grapes are causijng, and casually casts a low-level Chain Lightning, making everybody's (including Diedre the cat) hair stand on end, but succeeding in turning the Flying Grapes into Frying Grapes. His face sags, however as he realizes what he has done. He has not destroyed the grapes, merely mutated them into a MUCH more deadly form. He looks sheepishly around and calls for his honor gaurd of Vampires to begin eating the grapes. He hopes it works...

Greased is bewildered. Flying grapes? Greased wonders what Diedre has been smoking, and subsequently summoned upon this plane. Greased attempts to stomp upon a flying grape, but the flying grape cries "Weeeeee!" as it flies away! Greased encants, and gravity seems to drag as the grapes seemingly fly at one-fourth their speed. But then, Greased can only move at one-quarter of his own speed, so Gravity Pull is perfectly useless. Greased is not surprised. Greased espies Diedre hissing with rage and quaking with fear in the corner at of the Hall, spitting furiously as she actually tags a flying grape with a claw! The flying grape bleeds! Diedre slurps up the juice and declaims: "Meow!" Greased sees the dangers of the flying grapes! These grapes, these grapes could, could... destroy everything! Greased comes up with an idea. Greased calls out, "Who has the Holy Grail of Wine?"

The swarms of grapes form into a giant three-dimensional face and gurn at Server One's attempts to destroy them. They stick out a tongue of white grapes at the Tarakian lands, distort themselves like a Munch painting over the SOBS's arena, fly the Union Jack insultingly over The French Barbarbian's camp, form a tribal mask over The Tribe, wiggle their ears at the Legion of Dragons, thumb their nose towards the Pacifists?, roll their eyes at the Rainbow Alliance, pretend to pick their teeth with the pinnacle of the CftM! guildhall.

From outside the Banquet Hall, Dameon hears the sounds of the great battle raging inside. He watches as a giant fanged grape fly's through an upper level window and lands with a 'splat'at his feet. Dameon recgonizes this particular grape as one of the grapes summoned from the incredible spell "grapes of wrath". He groans inwardly and runs into the great hall as he hears Greased scream in rage followed by a fury of hisses from Deirdre the cat. Inside the hall, Dameon is assulted by the sights and sounds of battle. He sees Dythl desperately casting a 'black hole' spell as the bartender and waitresses attack injured grapes with wine glasses. Mumbling to himself, he summons Air elementals to blow the grapes towards Dythl's ever increasing black hole... If only someone could cast "ray of light" Dameon thinks, we could turn these rasins into grapes..... ------------------ Dameon Wandering Bard Of Terra Edited by: Ozymandias the Elder at: 2/23/02 11:52:22 am

Ozymandias carefully shoulders his way to the center of the growing throng. Taking Lumpenproletariat's hand in a steely grip, he shakes it solemnly. "Good luck in everything. The doors are always open."

It is a morning like any other in the halls of The Mighty Pen Keep. The Sun pierces the ever present clouds just enough to brighten most of its lands a bit and send glittering rays of light in many a window. In the observatory Balladore has just dozed off after sitting up all night writing (for the second night in a row). Page after page of hasty scrawl piled around him like a small bunker flutters slightly in a gentle breeze as, slumped over under his wool blanket, the haggard druid snores softly, goose quill still clutched tightly in his hand. Wyvern strolls the halls with a little extra spring in his step, whistling a merry tune (which came out as a heavily salivated hiss, unfortunately- Wyverns cannot whistle.). He'd just found a Terra centennial geld piece stuck in his easy chair twenty minutes ago- a piece worth easily a thousand geld. There are only one hundred centennial pieces believed to be left in existence, oddly enough. In The Manor of Tounges, Ozymandias, Peredhil, and the hostess, Lady Celes Crusader herself, enjoy a quiet morning cuppa before the morning rush on the cafe: Ozymandias taking the occasional swig of his Irish coffee, Peredhil savoring the aroma of a fine Arabian blend he has decided to try, and Lady Celes sipping lightly at a piping hot cup of tiramisu blend as they all watch Peredhil's sons sparring boisterously on the lawn. Yui-chan slips in and out of the trees as softly as the wind. As she spies the unusually gay Elven boys, she pauses for a moment, allowing herself a small smile, then it is back to business as her eyes scan the skies to reclaim the hawk she's been tracking. The Pen's hawk in residence, Andrea, and her lover William sit in their room in utter bliss. Andrea has just force fed her darling his fiftieth grenade in a row in a rather gory match of ArchQuake III. Grinning diabolically, she moves in for the kill, cranking up the volume on her headset as it pipes Queen's "Killer Queen" in her ears with gusto. Grinning ruefully, William likewise turns up his headset's volume on Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever?" On the roof, Gyrfalcon has decided to take advantage of the summery weather and is praticing his forms with a measured concentration that almost contradicts his awesome speed. The air itself seems to visibly part with every stroke of his katana. He too wears a blissful, if slightly predatory smile. Bhurin swoops by over his head, making lazy circles, simply enjoying the sun on his face and being alive. Jakob walks into Lady Celes' cafe and stops short. Eyeing all three mages with a cold gaze, he says, very, very quietly, "Where. Is. My. Staff." Just then, a scream rings out of Wyvern's treasury. William looks around frantically, unable to find his guitars. ANY of them. After looking many places throughout the vast halls of the keep and finding neither mage nor beast, Tzimfemme strides very calmly to the center of the Pen's lands, takes a deep breath and shrieks, "WHERE'S MINTA???" The psychic shockwave from her telepathic cry nearly knocks many mages and servants out of chairs or off of their feet. Soon the Pen is Mightier than the Sword is joined as one in demanding where their posessions or friends have gone.

Ozymandias bows deeply. "Merry part, Lord."

Timothy's brows knit and unknit in slow motion as he scowls while staring intently at the jewel. Finally, he says simply, "Clever monk, Jakob."

"I am glad that my words were well taken , if not clearly. My apologies. I simply meant the fact that you are the first angel I have met with a turn for prose. All others have been rather exclusively...martial. BUT, as I said, it is good to see you and every new face that enters our doors. I hope you like the housewarming gift I left you. You should find it in your rooms, once you've moved in properly." With that, Ozymandias spares a quick glance to his right, at which point the tiniest of Imps emerges from that ear and sets off in mad flight. An hour later, after much grunting and straining, two imp teams have moved three crates of the former king's finest whiskey into Bhurin's unadorned quarters. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it's high time this old man was in bed. Merry part, Sir." With a short bow, he starts to turn, then pauses, leaning forward conspiratorially. "If you ever want to spar, give me a call. Gyrfalcon's always game enough, but he can cut through my defense like hay. That, and I want to see what you're made of. " He winks rougishly. "Until next we meet." Finally, Ozymandias pays up his bar tab, says the rest of his goodnights, and leaves.

A leatherfaced old mage dressed in midnight blue walks serenely over to Bhurin's side, his robes flowing oddly, almost as if they were sand. He stops to gaze at Bhurin with a faraway look for a moment, then his eyes refocus on the newcomer as he breaks into a warm smile. "Welcome, friend", he rumbles with the tiniest trace of an unknown accent. "I must say, I did not expect to see a being of your sort enter the place of The Pen- not as colleague, at any rate.", says he with a chuckle. "Be that as it may, again, welcome, and good fortune to you. I am Ozymandias, one of our most ancient elders. At your service."